


Kind Eyes and Passionate Hearts

by captainraz



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Getting Together, Halamshiral (Dragon Age), Racial Slurs as Weird Foreplay, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 15:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19871845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainraz/pseuds/captainraz





	Kind Eyes and Passionate Hearts

The Winter Palace was uncomfortable for everyone. As far as Krem could tell, that was the entire point of it.

Between the bloody elven history, the risk of assassins as part of the Grand Game, the stuffy outfits and the Maker-forsaken cold, there was barely a moment of peace. For anyone.

The Chargers weren’t part of the main Inquisition party at Halamshiral, but the Iron Bull had brought along a few of the core people to mingle with the household guards. Just to make sure all the bases were covered.

It was boring.

All the soldiers brought by the nobles were off duty all night, the Winter Palace’s own guard in charge of security. Which meant Krem was sat in the barracks common room with half a dozen increasingly drunk mercenaries. And that was just the Chargers. The Orlesian guards were worse; half of them passed out already and their pockets emptied courtesy of Skinner. That would teach them to challenge her to a drinking contest.

“Make sure at least some of us stay sober enough to respond to any threats,” he murmured to Dalish, who had a surprisingly steady Skinner sat in her lap.

“I am but a simple forest elf, ser, how am I to control the actions of this flat-ear here?” Dalish said, pulling Skinner down for a kiss.

“Dirty knife-ear,” Skinner shot back, before devouring Dalish’s lips.

He never had understood how their courtship worked, only that it did. Somehow.

Krem’s fists itched. If he didn’t get to _do_ something soon he was going to start pacing. And then Skinner would get snappy and a little knifey, he’d end up saying something back that would force Dalish to defend her girlfriend. And it would all end in tears, mostly for him, as the Chargers either started a brawl or teased him about missing his girl until his ears were red enough to light up the Deep Roads.

Cassandra wasn’t a girl, and she certainly wasn’t _his_ , but that didn’t matter to Rocky, or Stitches or even Grim, sat there with a smug as fuck smirk on his face. If only they’d never found out. Maybe he could ask Dorian about that time magic nonsense so he could go back and make sure that never happened.

Probably best not to. Shit like that upset the Chief.

Dalish’s hand crept towards Skinner’s pants and Krem had finally had enough. Pushing his chair back with a disgusted noise he definitely _hadn’t_ learned from the object of his affections Krem stormed out of the barracks.

The night air was clear and cool, the distant murmur of an Orlesian ball the only thing from preventing it from being quiet. Krem let his feet take him where they wanted; if he tried to enter anywhere that was out of bounds he’d soon find out.

Maker’s breath, what was happening to him? He was a soldier, Lieutenant of the Bull’s Chargers, the Iron Bull’s right hand man. He shouldn’t be this affected by a little bit of public indecency, certainly not from those two. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before.

No, he was a soldier; he should be up there with the Inquisitor, with Cassandra. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t _important_ enough to actually attend the ball. He certainly wasn’t good enough for _her_. So instead of actually doing anything useful he got to sit in the barracks doing nothing with a bunch of drunk soldiers, watching Dalish and Skinner practically fuck on the table.

If he’d wanted to do that he could have just stayed at Skyhold.

Instead he found himself by a fountain in a small secluded portion of the garden. The sound of falling water _should_ have been calming but wasn’t, and neither was the sickly-sweet scent on the breeze. Honeysuckle perhaps?

Krem rested a foot on the edge of the fountain and ran his hands through his hair, trying to put his finger on what felt so off about the situation. It wasn’t the waiting; Maker only knew that being a soldier meant waiting for days at a time for a few moments of action.

Maker take it he hated the not knowing. The Chief was somewhere in that den of snakes, _Cassandra_ was in there, hunting for Venatori agents and trying to stop an assassination while trying not to upset the notoriously fickle Orlesian court and he had no idea if either of them was alright.

The knot of worry in his chest eased a little as Krem identified the source of his anxiety. That there was nothing he could do about the situation meant the rest of the knot remained an impossible tangle, like Rocky’s tent if he was allowed to put it away himself.

Krem growled in frustration. “Fuck Corypheus, fuck the Venatori and fuck Orlesian fucking balls!”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” said an accented voice from behind him.

Krem jumped and nearly fell into the fountain.

“Lady Cassandra!” His feet found solid ground and he snapped to attention, cheeks burning in embarrassment.

Cassandra scowled. “I have had enough Lady Cassandra this and Lady Cassandra that from the nobles this evening without you doing it as well, Krem. My name is Cassandra, or Seeker if you prefer.”

“Cassandra then,” Krem said, relaxing his stance. There was nothing to be done about his burning face but wait for it to calm on its own. “Is everything okay? Is the Chief alright? The Inquisitor?”

“They are both fine. I left them arguing at the buffet table over which of the canapés is the worst tasting. The evening’s business is concluded, with no casualties on our part. The civil war is ended.”

The knot in Krem’s chest undid a little further at that news. The Chief was fine. The Inquisitor was fine. There was nothing to worry about.

Except perhaps the vision of the woman in front of him, who was all kinds of fine he’d never dream of calling the Chief.

In the black and gold dress uniforms the Inquisitor’s party had worn for the ball Cassandra looked like exactly what she was; a high born noble of exceptional breeding, a warrior of unmatched skill and prowess, a leader of one of the most powerful institutions left standing in Thedas. Her eyes were rimmed in smokey Kohl as usual, a touch of femininity that also reminded onlookers that there was a woman beneath all the titles and accolades. A woman who spent her precious spare time absorbed in steamy romance novels, if the scuttlebutt around Skyhold was accurate.

Krem rarely had cause to thank the Maker for his unique circumstances but right now he had never been more glad that the blaze of arousal flooding his body would have no _noticeable_ side effects, save the dryness of his mouth and an inability to string a sentence together. And given that was his standard state of being when Cassandra was around it was hardly likely to give him away.

“I should er, leave you to it then. The fountain. I’m sure you don’t want your evening ruined by a roughty toughty merc who’s had too much to drink.” Or not enough. He just couldn’t keep his mouth shut, could he? Regardless of how dry it is.

Maker smite him where he stood he was making a spectacular ass of himself. The Chief was going to give him grief over this for _months._

“You were here first, Krem. And I have no objections to the company, no matter how roughty toughty,” she said, her voice softer than Krem had ever heard it. Her gaze flickered across his chest and broad shoulders, the slight dilation of her pupils visible even in the moonlight.

Krem sucked in a breath.

No. There was no way…

But Cassandra was looking at him with warmth in her hazel eyes, the slightest hitch of a smile evident in the corner of her mouth. And if Krem didn’t stop staring at her lips he was going to do something entirely inadvisable and get himself murdered by the Nightingale. If Cassandra didn’t get to him first.

His eyes snapped back up to Cassandra’s just in time to see her doing the exact same thing.

Krem wanted to scream in frustration. What his eyes were telling him was the exact opposite of what he knew to be true; that Cassandra was not and would never be interested in a man like him. He was just seeing what he wanted to see, sadness and desperation and drink fooling him into thinking he had a chance.

He should get out of here before he made a fool of himself, get back to the barracks and drown himself in enough whisky that Stitches would have to put him to bed and spend the next day being teased for his hangover. He should–

“May I have this dance, my lady?” And he was offering her his hand like this was even remotely a good idea. He should never have opened his mouth. He should take it all back, his hands and his words and beat a tactical retreat. Maybe if he retreated as far as the Anderfels he might learn not to make such a fool of himself.

“I would be honoured, Ser.” And then Cassandra’s hand was in his, warm and strong and calloused and ungloved for possibly the first time since Krem had met her.

Well, if this was a dream or a hallucination or a cruel trick he was going to make the most of it.

He bowed formally over Cassandra’s hand, and she returned the gesture, slipping into his personal space and settling into the posture of the following partner. Krem’s hand went to the small of her back and the hard muscles shifting beneath the fabric of her uniform jacket almost had him seeing stars.

Taking a deep breath he pulled her flush with his body, much closer than propriety dictated, but in for a copper in for a gold. He was rewarded with Cassandra’s slight intake of breath and a flush of colour high in her cheeks.

“I apologise in advance for your toes.” Krem began the steps, haltingly at first and then smoother as he gained confidence. Thank the Maker that Harding had finally got around to giving those dance lessons or he’d really be making a fool of himself now.

Cassandra followed his movements flawlessly, her easy grace reminiscent of the way she moved on the battlefield. With a sword in her hand Cassandra was a true predator, all long, lean lines and coiled power, ready to spring at a moment’s notice, not a single ounce of energy wasted.

Though he held her tight and dictated the steps, Krem could _feel_ the power in Cassandra’s bunched muscles; with the barest twist of her wrist she could have him on his back and entirely at her mercy. He might be leading the dance but he was under no illusions as to who was in charge here. Cassandra had always held a power over him and part of Krem had always thrilled at that, rejoiced every time she had bested him in the sparring ring.

He tried not to imagine what that power might be like in the bedroom, and failed.

Krem stumbled, scuffing the toe of Cassandra’s boots with his own.

“My apologies,” he said, face heating up with embarrassment over both the stumble and the thought that had caused it.

Cassandra smiled at him. “You dance well.”

“Been practising. Just in case I was lucky enough to get to dance with the most beautiful woman in all Thedas. And here I am.”

She laughed, eyes sparkling. Emboldened, Krem sent her into a dizzying spin. When she returned her arms settled around his neck, their chests pressed together and it hadn’t been his doing.

Krem was so distracted by Cassandra’s proximity and her scent—sweat and soap and touch of metal that could either be blood or armour—that almost didn’t notice the dark stain at her wrist. He took her hand from his shoulder and held it between them, his face falling into concern.

“Blood,” Cassandra confirmed before he could ask with anything but his eyes. “Not mine.”

“I’m glad.” Krem placed her hand back on his shoulder, unconcerned about the gore. All he cared about was that Cassandra was unharmed, and the rightness of being with her like this.

They took a few turns around the fountain before either of them spoke again.

“This is very romantic,” Cassandra said, breaking the companionable quiet.

Krem could hardly argue. A dance under the stars with a beautiful woman; the only sounds aside from the movement of their feet were the burbling of water and the soft strains of music on the air; the scent of something floral floated by on the breeze.

He burned for her, like he’d never burned for anyone before. She set his blood on fire, made him dizzy with want and need. And here in this garden at the Winter Palace, with her eyes shining like the stars, she made him hope that he wasn’t alone.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was hoarse, barely audible, but the words were real. His heart thudded in his chest, waiting for her answer.

“Yes. Please.” Her lips were parted, her eyes dark and sparkling and it was all for _him_.

Part of Krem wanted to pull Cassandra impossibly closer and crash his lips to hers; to give in to the fire in his veins and plunder her mouth like he was a pirate and her lips were the lost treasure of an Antivan Queen. He held his body under tight control, resisting the impulse; first kisses were serious business and Maker help him he would get this right.

For Cassandra.

Instead he pulled his gauntlets off behind Cassandra’s back and tossed them aside before reaching to cup her cheek. His thumb traced her plush lower lip and her eyes fluttered closed, her pulse thundering in her neck. Krem tilted her face ever so slightly upwards—he was only a fraction of an inch taller than her—and leaned in for the kiss.

Cassandra’s lips were dry, and rough where her teeth had worried at them, but she tasted of salt and fine Orlesian wine. Krem kissed her slowly, revelling in the way her fingers tightened around his neck, the little puffs of breath against his face. He teased her lips apart to deepen the kiss and let his hand slip into her hair, still damp with sweat.

He wanted to kiss her like this every day for the rest of his life. Maker willing, he might even get the chance.

When they pulled apart Cassandra smiled at him in a way he’d never seen before, eyes hooded and full of promise, and his heart skittered in his chest.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted.

“So have I,” she said, and the way she bit her lip afterwards almost undid Krem there and then. He wanted to bite at it too. “How long have you wanted to kiss me?”

“Since the first time you tossed me on my arse in the sparring ring.”

Cassandra laughed. “Would that that was all it took to make most men swoon.”

“I’m not most men,” Krem pointed out. “But you definitely make me swoon.” He let his fingers trail over the scar on Cassandra’s jaw; perhaps later he’d get the chance to do the same with his lips.

That scar had been the second thing Krem had noticed about Cassandra as he’d walked through Haven trying to find someone willing to talk to him, after noticing how terrifyingly competent she was with a sword. Most women would have tried to hide a scar that size with cosmetics, or at least tried to minimise it, but not Cassandra. Whatever had happened, however she had got it, she wore the scar proudly, without a hint of shame. Combined with her sharp cheekbones and dark-lined eyes, it made her stand out in the best way possible. She should have had suitors lining up to give her the perfect and the fact she didn’t made Krem angry for a moment before he realised he would just have to step up and do right by her.

If she let him.

Their feet had come to a standstill but their bodies still swayed in the breeze, following a tune Krem could barely hear any more.

“You could have asked to kiss me before,” Cassandra said, reaching up to run the calloused pads of her fingers along the shaved side of Krem’s head. It was his turn to close his eyes in pleasure. “Why didn’t you?”

“I’d like to say I was waiting for the right time, to make it as romantic as possible.” He snagged Cassandra’s hand out of his hair and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “But the real reason is I was too scared to.”

Cassandra laughed again. “I thought you were a roughty toughty mercenary?” she teased. “You shouldn’t be scared of anything.”

“Have you seen yourself Cassandra? You are the most intimidating force of nature I’ve ever met and I– l” He bit back the words, not ready to let them leave his tongue. It was too soon. Those words were for another night, another fountain, another dance. “I’ve never known anyone like you.”

“Nor I you, Krem. You take my breath away.”

“S’alright, I know how to do mouth-to-mouth.”

Another peal of laughter burst from Cassandra, as though it had been startled out of her. “You are ridiculous.” She shoved at Krem’s shoulder, pushing him away, but there was no malice in her eyes.

Krem caught her and pulled her in for another kiss. He still didn’t plunder, because Cassandra didn’t deserve to be treated that way—she was a princess and he would treat her as such, precious but not fragile—but he poured everything he could into this second kiss. He tried to tell her with every press of his lips how much she meant to him, how much he wanted her, how much passion he had to keep in check as he kissed her.

By the time he was done he had dipped her low to the ground and Cassandra had to hold on to his neck for support. Her eyes were dark, pupils wide, her lips kiss-swollen and perfect and she made no move to stand upright; it seemed she trusted him no to let her fall.

“I might be ridiculous,” Krem murmured, “but I am also yours, if you want me.”

“I do,” she breathed, and Krem thought his heart had stopped. “I–” There was a shout of Cassandra’s name from elsewhere in the gardens. “That’s the Inquisitor. Duty calls,” she said with a sigh.

With great reluctance Krem pulled her upright. “Go do what you need to do.” He bent low to kiss her hand. “I’ll be waiting for you my lady.”

The shout rang out again, and Cassandra answered it, every syllable dripping with frustration. She turned back to Krem and the frustration all but disappeared. “Will you come to my room tonight? Perhaps you could read some poetry for me.”

Krem almost forgot how to breathe but regained his senses quickly this was not an invitation to turn down. “You shall have all the poetry my lips are capable of.”

Cassandra flushed at his words, catching the double entendre but not backing down. She gave him her directions to her room and left him with a sweet kiss. “Until later.”

Krem murmured his farewell and stayed to watch her leave, enjoying the sight of her in that uniform. He scooped up his gauntlets with a grin on his face, giddy with anticipation for later that night.

He whistled, actually _whistled_ on his way back to the barracks. There was a battered old copy of banned Tevinter poetry in his pack; there was sure to be something in there Cassandra might enjoy. He just had to get past the Chargers first.

Maker he was going to get so much shit for this. And with the way the Inquisition rumour mill worked the news would be all over Skyhold before they even got back.

Somehow Krem couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not if it meant he got to be with a woman like Cassandra. Not if it meant he got to kiss her again. He’d fight his way to the Void and back if it meant he got to do that again.

The common room was quiet as he walked past, mercenaries passed out in all sorts of compromising positions. Mercifully there was no sign of Dalish or Skinner. As Krem scooped the book of poetry out of his pack it occurred to him that, perhaps, the Winter Palace wasn’t all that bad.

And depending how things went with Cassandra later, it might even have the potential to be great. He’d just have to wait and see.


End file.
